Page 133 of Ghosts Don't Cry
When he wakes up, will he regret letting me get this close?
I lie there, watching him sleep, memorizing every detail. I let myself trace him with my eyes. The curve of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way the sheets cling to the lines of his body. I drink everything in. I let myself have this, just in case this is not permanent and I lose him again.
One moment in time where the past and present combine.
One perfect moment. Before the world can intrude and ruin things again.
Chapter Fifty-Five
RONAN
Consciousness comes slowly,which is the first indicator that something is different. There’s no violent jerk into wakefulness, no instant assessment of threats, and no need to catalog exits and entrances. There’s just a gradual rise through layers of warmth, cocooned in sheets that smell like her.
For a moment, I keep my eyes closed, caught in this space between sleeping and waking where everything feels possible. Where the weight of the past seven years, of my entire life, lifts, and has been replaced by something that feels dangerously like peace.
It takes me longer than it should to realize what’s so strange about this moment.
I slept.
I wasn’t disturbed every few hours by nightmares of walls closing in. I didn’t dream of dying alone in that factory. And I didn’t wake up every hour to check my surroundings—a habit carved into me since I turned fourteen and ran away.
I can’t remember the last time that happened. Maybe never. Even as a kid, I learned to sleep light, and wake at the smallestsound. In prison, it was worse. Every noise was a potential threat.
The mattress dips beside me, and warmth presses against my side. Lily’s breath fans across my chest, and I can’t resist opening my eyes to look at her. She’s curled toward me, one hand resting over my heart. Her hair spills across the pillow and her face is relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted.
My fingers itch to touch her, to trace the curve of her shoulder, and remind myself that this is real. Because, somehow, after everything that’s happened, she still fits against me like she was made to.
I let myself study her. The slope of her nose, and the fan of her lashes. She’s beautiful like this—vulnerable, and soft … andmine. At least for now.
She stirs slightly, and my hand moves before I can stop it, brushing her hair back from her face. The bruise on her cheek is darker this morning, a reminder of everything she risked stepping between Dan and me. The split in her lip has scabbed over. Seeing it still makes something twist in my chest when I see it.
“You’re thinking too loud.” Her voice is husky with sleep, but her lips curve into a smile.
“I thought you were still asleep.”
“Mmm.” She stretches, her body sliding against mine in ways that make my breath catch. “Was. Butyoustarted brooding.”
I stroke over her shoulder with my fingers, and she shivers.
“I don’t brood.”
She pushes up onto one elbow, and the sheet slips down, baring more skin to the morning light. Her fingers reach out to trace over the tattoo near my heart. Her eyes lift to meet mine.
“Tell me something true.”
Those words—our old game from the factory—catch me off guard. For a moment I’m back there, whispering truths in thedark, because they were easier to say when we couldn’t see each other’s faces.
“I slept.” The confession is quiet. “Really slept. First time since I first ran away.”
Her hand stills. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I catch her fingers, pressing them against my skin. “I don’t even remember having any dreams.”
Her expression softens, and she leans over to kiss me. When she pulls back, there are words in her eyes that I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
“I need to go back to the house.” I sit up, and swing around so my back is to her. “I don’t want to get behind on the work.”
Her hand smooths down my spine. I wait for her to remember all the reasons this can’t work. To think about the school board meeting coming up, and how being seen with me will only make things worse. Instead, she moves, pressing against my back and wrapping her arms around my waist.
